


Grande Vitesse

by deskclutter



Category: Princess Tutu
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-28
Updated: 2014-09-28
Packaged: 2018-02-19 01:22:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2369210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deskclutter/pseuds/deskclutter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Snow falls overnight, large feathery flakes that pile into deep, soft drifts. But the path out of the woods is clear enough to walk.</p><p>Written for Fakiru Week 2014: Gate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grande Vitesse

Snow falls overnight, large feathery flakes that pile into deep, soft drifts. But the path out of the woods is clear enough to walk. Sometimes the town is still strange like that. So Ahiru rolls awake and wraps a warm orange scarf around her neck, dons her warm coat. She trudges out of the empty house and locks the door behind her.

She skips her way through the cold.

 

No one talks about it, because everyone has more or less forgotten, but when Mytho and Rue left, when all the walls had melted away, the trains had started running through a station that had always seemed to be there, like the bell tower. Even Fakir did not find the sudden constant whistle of the trains at all hours a shock or a surprise, though for the longest time he was wakened in the middle of the night to the startled quacking of a very small duck.

But Ahiru remembers, as Ahiru remembers all the strange things that no one else does.

Of course, the train whistle no longer seems strange to her -- time's own contribution to domestic harmony. It is no longer strange to duck into the warmth of the station, to hear the thousand thousand echoes of busy boot heels on stone, to hear the trains chug into the station and then rush off again. With the ease of long practice, Ahiru watches the flap display flip numbers and letters in a blur of white until at last on the ARRIVALS board is the express she came to meet.

Her face brightens, and she settles down to wait.

 

When Fakir first takes the train to the city, he falters at the platform. "Never taken a train in my life," he mutters in explanation to the duck, who makes a lot of noise at him that he interprets to be encouragement. He must go, you see, to negotiate a future, to attend meetings -- both for business and for fans. And Fakir does have fans. Almost unexpectedly, for there had been a feeling that caught in the backs of their minds that an author living where Drosselmeyer had once planted roots that defied death might not do well in that profession, Fakir is now famous.

Stranger, cannier spells have befallen their town before, and a spell of forgetfulness, a dissipation of the wariness; this will likely do no harm. So they reason.

In any case, Fakir must go, so as he has had to do so many times before, Fakir holds tight to courage, friend and comrade to hope, and he takes the first step. Another. Another. And now he has boarded the train not a moment too soon, for it begins to pull out of the station.

A small duck is waving frantically, frantically as it speeds off, until he can only see a speck of yellow hastily dodging the porter.

That was long ago, and Fakir does not falter now, as he disembarks, minding the gap between the train and the platform as he struggles with his bag. Something catches his eye, so he looks up.

There is someone on the platform, waving and waving. He puts his free hand over his eyes.

"Fakir!" calls Ahiru, all bundled up in muffler, ear muffs, mittens. Her eyes are as bright as new coins. Unbidden, a corner of his mouth creeps up in a reluctant smile. "Fakir, Fakir!"

She doesn't stop waving until he has stopped directly in front of her, still tall, still a little stern, but he keeps trying to push the smile of his face. He is not having much luck with that. Ahiru grins merrily at him. "Welcome home, Fakir."

He clicks his tongue in annoyance. "You're such a bother," he grumbles, but he leans forward, dropping his rucksack, to envelope her in a hug. (She quacks, because old habits die hard.)

"I'm back," Fakir says into her hair.

 

Sometimes Fakir is asked to go on tours, and it humbles him to know that he has made it so far (at least, that is what he says in interviews). Some day, he would like to bring Ahiru with him.


End file.
